


Sincerity

by Duckay



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, WWE Brand Split Draft Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckay/pseuds/Duckay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the draft on SmackDown Live, Tyler Breeze has needlessly complicated feelings that Fandango doesn't really understand. But maybe he doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sincerity

**Author's Note:**

> Just popped into my head while driving home from watching SmackDown Live and then the continued draft on the Network with a friend of mine. Couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote it down.

_ Breezango have been drafted to SmackDown. _

Fandango looked up to meet  Tyler’s eye, grinning broadly, rather expecting to see the same kind of look on the other man’s face. His hand was already raising for a fist-bump, but he faltered when he saw the purse of Tyler’s lips, the downward curve of his eyebrow.

“ _ SmackDown _ ?” Tyler mouthed silently, before his lip curled in something kind of like disgust, and his hands flew up. When he found his voice, he added, scathingly, “We have to tolerate that uggo, Daniel Bryan?”

Fandango gave this due consideration, leaning back to recline in his seat with what he hoped looked like disaffected grace. “On RAW, we’d have Mick Foley. Man can’t even dance.” This didn’t have the effect on Tyler he’d hoped; Tyler’s lower lip curled still further like he’d sucked on a lemon. “At least we’ve been separated from the two biggest uggos in the WWE.”

“Who’s that, then?” Tyler’s voice was quiet, but Fandango was on the money; his expression had softened, and there was that familiar light shining in his eyes again.

“You know, the -- what did you call them again?”

They both knew what he was leading into. It was the closest thing they had to a running joke, and they’d gotten the dialogue very nearly down pat. Tyler’s face was overtaken by that big smile of his, the one that he always got when he was so pleased with himself. That smile that made his mouth look too big for his face, that made his perfect face just a tiny bit less perfect for a minute. That always preceded one of those big, almost maniacal laughs. That made Fandango’s stomach do backflips every time he saw it, and silently vow to bring back as often as he could.

“The - the molten poop?”

The two men burst into fits of laughter, one of Tyler’s arms snaking around Fandango’s neck while he raised the other for that long-awaited fist-bump. Every time it looked like Tyler was going to calm down for a second, or that Fandango was, one of them would repeat the line and they’d start giggling all over again, clutching tight to each other for support like the stupid little folding chairs wouldn’t be enough.

Finally, it seemed like they couldn’t really manage any more giggles, their sides and faces hurting too much from the laughter that still wouldn’t quite fade. Fandango was sure there was something in Tyler’s eyes that he was leaving unsaid, but he couldn’t have named the emotion if he tried. The moment the laughter finally dissipated into nothingness, the displeased curl returned to his mouth, and he flipped his hair over his shoulder dismissively.

“Ugh,  _ SmackDown _ ,” Tyler repeated, for good measure, though he got to his feet as he did so, kicking the chair away from him like he was afraid it might dare to try to follow him. “I can’t deal with this here. Let’s go home.”

_ Home _ meant their shared hotel room, which mercifully wasn’t nearly as far away as Fandango had feared originally. They swung by the locker room to collect their gear, but Tyler was tapping his foot impatiently so Fandango didn’t bother to get changed - and Tyler certainly didn’t. Without any way to know what Tyler was thinking, it was best to not try to speculate, and just let him do his thing. Besides, it wasn't as though they'd actually wrestled, or done anything to work up a sweat, except sit in those horrible little chairs. Tyler stared out the window of the rental car while Fandango drove. The only contribution Tyler made to the conversation was yet another rant, one that Fandango was sure he’d already heard a thousand times before, about what an outrage it was that they didn’t have a chauffeur.

If it was really that important to Tyler, he easily had the connections to arrange one. The fact that he didn’t was one of those little Tyler Breeze mysteries that Fandango didn’t think were solvable.

The mystery of Tyler Breeze’s mood, however, was made more complex as they made their way into their hotel room. The door swung shut behind them and Tyler threw his bag onto the floor with an uncharacteristic lack of care before he threw his body into Fandango’s arms, thighs wrapping around his waist, and hands cupping either side of his face as he devoured his mouth in a kiss.

Tyler was just  _ barely  _ light enough that Fandango could comfortably hold him without visibly struggling, though that was one of those delicate things that you didn’t say out loud to your lover, lest you offend them, and having him suddenly thrown into him unexpectedly was always a challenge. But at the same time, this was a Tyler that Fandango had come to learn very well; transitioning from hot to cold to hot without any apparent pattern, effusive one minute and then distant the next. All that could really be done was ride out the storm of Tyler’s emotions to see where it took you.

Pun not intended.

Fandango pressed Tyler’s body into the wall, returning the kiss hard and firm, one arm helping support Tyler’s weight under one thigh, while the other curled around his lower back. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was possible to get drunk on the sensation of kisses, that crawling warmth that seemed to light up every part of his body as Tyler’s mouth moved against his. Something was different, though, and it was an important kind of different. Tyler’s body was trembling, something felt wet against his cheek.

Lowering Tyler gently to the ground, though still keeping him as close as he could, Fandango broke the kiss so he could see his lover’s face clearly. Tyler crying was a little strange. Tyler crying while kissing him like his life depended on it was baffling. As his dark eyes drunk in the lost look in Tyler’s, all Fandango could think to do was lift one hand to the back of his head, softly stroking the blond mop, pulling him in close to his shoulder.

“You know I hate that,” Tyler croaked, twisting his head away a little, and shaking his hair with a sort of brave smile. “You always make a mess of it.”

If there was one thing Fandango knew about Tyler, deep in his soul, it was that Tyler didn’t hate that at all; quite the opposite, in fact. But he was also pretty sure that wasn’t a diplomatic thing to say, so he just nodded and moved the hand instead to Tyler’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

They stayed close, and silent, for a long time, before Tyler ventured, softly, “What if they’d split us up?”

“They didn’t,” was all that Fandango could think to reply. If this was the reason for Tyler’s excess of emotion, it didn’t make any sense to him at all. “Nothing to cry about, Breezy. They didn’t, we’re both going to SmackDown.”

He’d expected the little crinkle of Tyler’s nose at the mention, again, of SmackDown. He hadn’t really expected the quiet hiccupping gulp, Tyler making a noise halfway between a giggle and a sob. Feeling oddly helpless, his hand drifted back down to Tyler’s upper back, rubbing in gentle circles as Tyler’s head dropped, again, to his shoulder. Tyler’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer, as if that were even possible.

“I really thought they’d do it. I’m just so happy I get to keep you.”

It was soft, soft enough that maybe Tyler hadn’t meant to be heard. Maybe he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. And it was such an impossibly Tyler thing to say that Fandango couldn’t have taken offense to the strange choice of words even if he’d disapproved of the sentiment. He felt the clutch of Tyler’s hand against the skin of his lower back, and the very particular tension in Tyler’s shoulders that then slowly relaxed, and only then did he feel like he understood, even a little.

After a still longer silence, Tyler looked up at him. There was a certain shine in his eyes that was almost daring him to bring up the outburst of emotion, and yet trusting that he wouldn’t.

“C’mon, ‘Dango. We ordered that low-carb meal plan and I’m dying for it.”

His voice was all back to business, but the slide of Tyler’s fingers down his arm, and the light squeeze of his hand, told him everything that he needed to know.


End file.
